Letters

How're you doing? I'm fine. Well, fine, considering I'm a man in my late 70s who's forced to make more gown changes than Cher, but why should you worry about any of that?

No, no, no, don't you give it another thought that I spend most of my day destroying communism, fighting capitalism, and getting my hand kissed by every medal-wearing Johnny Coldsore while saying Mass in the middle of the Amazon and wearing 58 pounds of vestments and a big pointy hat that makes me look like I'm ready for launch.

But please don't be concerned. You have your own problems: SUVs. Long-distance carriers. Guilt. Though we don't traffic in the former two—not that you'd know, anyway—we've pretty much cornered the market on making people feel unworthy. It's what we do. Poverty? Your fault. Misery? That'd be you. World's dwindling supply of nougat? Y-O-U.

You're horribly indulgent people. I know. Believe me. I'm not unlike you. You know when I'm waving with one hand from the back of the Popemobile? Where do you think that other hand is? Gameboy. And the 11th commandment? Thou Shalt Not Phone Papa Once Ally McBeal Comes On.

Yeah, I got mine, and if I'm doing my job, you got yours. But, as I do on special occasions such as Christmas and the Feast of Tina Louise, I'm offering you a respite from your guilt. I hearby grant you a special dispensation so that you may enjoy in full confidence the publication you hold in your hands. OC Weekly has long been one of my favorite publications and I want you to read, learn and enjoy this 1999 Best of Orange County issue and all it has to offer.

And I do mean all of it.

Front to back.

If you get my drift.

And don't feel bad about not feeling bad. There's always tomorrow. And the Fox Network.